Page 135 of The Iron Flower

“You need to let Wynter see your memories,” Marina tells him, keeping only partial control of her voice, her tones fracturing as they do when she’s upset. “Show them to her while they’re fresh in your mind so we can give these images to the Amaz.”

Gareth nods, then gets up and goes to Wynter, sitting down on her bed in front of her. Wynter takes a deep breath, as if steeling herself, then places her hands on the sides of Gareth’s face and closes her eyes. She gives a hard flinch and draws away from him for a moment, then stiffens and settles in like a soldier going into battle. After sitting with him like that for a long while, Wynter begins to draw, pausing every so often to touch Gareth’s hand.

I wander out into the hallway, feeling claustrophobic in the crowded room and frustrated with all of the waiting—and deeply troubled by what Gareth told us.

I sit on the windowsill, upset and brooding, looking out at the hard blue edge of the dawn. A few cold stars still hang in the sky, and I watch the dawn’s blue edge lift higher for a good half hour.

“Elloren.”

I turn my head at the sound of Yvan’s voice and slide off my perch. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

My fatigue makes it easy to throw off all hesitation. I embrace him, his own hands reaching around to hold me lightly. I can feel his distress in the way he’s holding himself, so stiff and coiled—all stress and troubled emotions, the fire inside of him knifing in random flares. I can tell that, like Gareth, this has taken a toll on him.

“You smell strange,” I say, pulling away slightly. It’s like spirits mixed with smoke and something else...like sweat.

“I smell rancid,” he replies harshly. “That place was horrifying.”

“Gareth’s back, too,” I tell him. “But Rafe and Trystan aren’t. Not yet.”

“I saw men I know there, Elloren. Resistance fighters. People who I thought cared about justice and freedom. But not for Marina’s kind, apparently.”

His brow tightens. “More than a few are married. I know some of their wives, and I wonder what they’d make of this if they knew. When the men saw me...they welcomed me, like some long-lost relative...some initiate into this club of theirs...as if I was finally a real man, like them. It was disgusting. It was all I could do not to leave. I’m not a good actor, Elloren. You know that.”

I do know that. His lack of artifice, so difficult to take when I first met him, is now one of the things I love best about him.

“But Clive,” he goes on, “you should have seen him. Life of the party. By the end of the evening, he had everyone there—the tavern keeper included—completely falling-down drunk. But not before he got the tavern keeper to give us a tour of the place and a view of every single Selkie there. We both paid for time with multiple women...one right after the other. We tried to pick the ones who seemed the savviest...the ones who didn’t seem...broken.”

“Gareth said the woman he was with...” I hesitate for a moment. “She tried to undress him.”

“There was a bit of that,” Yvan admits uncomfortably, “but Wynter’s pictures...once they saw them, most of the women seemed to understand.”

“Wynter will want to read your thoughts,” I tell him. “So she can draw more pictures for the Amaz.”

“Of course,” he says, looking toward the door to my room, then back to me again, hesitating.

That familiar ache I feel when I’m close to him rises up in me. A longing to be closer. To escape from the world in each other’s arms.

“It’s equinox,” he says finally.

So, it is. I’d completely forgotten. Time to gather the sweet tree sap for the maple festival—one of the few holidays celebrated by everyone in this part of Erthia. Time to make sugar and get ready for the coming spring.

Everything seems so bleak. It’s hard to believe that soon the trees will bud and the robins will return.

“Happy Equinox,” I tell him, my hand finding his. He clasps his fingers around mine.

“I’m also nineteen today.”

“It’s your birthday?”

He nods. “My mother believed I would be safe and lucky, because it’s an auspicious day to be born on.” He smiles jadedly at this, as if it’s terribly ironic. “I think it was wishful thinking on her part. Defiance in the face of a rather unpleasant reality.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” I tell him, swinging our hands a bit. “Maybe youarelucky. We wouldn’t have saved Marina if I hadn’t been following you that day...and Naga is free because of you...”

And... I love you.

The words are right on the tip of my tongue, and I wish I could say them out loud. Because isn’t love always lucky? Even if nothing can come of it?

It has to be.

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